Without fear or reservation

Commentary: Eight alternative ways to get into trendy restaurants

By

BillMann

SONOMA, Calif. (MarketWatch) -- You know a restaurant is trendy when your waiter says, "Try the squid in its own ink."

There are plenty of such places around here. In fact, Sonoma County just may be the foodie capital of the world. -- e.g., local supermarkets often carry more chevre - goat cheese - than the déclassé, cow-derived variety. (And don't even THINK about being caught with Velveeta, which, one local restaurant critic sniffs, is a "food-like substance." )

But there's trendy, and then, there's...exclusive. Four-star restaurants harder to get into than the Oval Office. Places like The French Laundry just over in Napa County.

Want a table two months from now? Good luck -- um, bon chance -- with that.

MarketWatch's Andrea Coombes recently offered a few tips from eight maitre d's on ways to improve your chances of getting seated at popular high-end eateries. Things like being flexible with your times and dates, being nice on the phone, getting put on a wait-list. But even these, I know from experience here, might not always work.

This long-time resident of Foodie Central -- you can even be legally evicted from Sonoma County for eating at an Olive Garden (unless it's a real one with trees) -- offers these helpful suggestions on gaining entrée into one of these uber-exclusive eateries:

1. The Appeal to Gallic Pride Technique. If you detect any trace of a French accent when you call the restaurant (the reservationist answering the phone "allo" is one clue) make your request in French: "Y-a-t-il une table a deux pour le 6 janvier?" might just work. Of course, you run the risk of the guy being, say, Croatian and slamming down the phone. Also, if he continues your reservation conversation en français, you're probably screwed. Hire a French surrogate before trying this one.

2. The 'Judge Knott' Technique. Since the old "Dr." scam is well-known to leery maitre d's -- that is, identifying yourself as "Doctor" So-and-So -- I suggest a ruse that's actually worked for me. Identify yourself on the phone as "Judge." If pressed, you can always say you judged your kid's school Halloween costume contest. Besides a few Senate committees, who wants to turn down a judge? Caveat: If your first name is "Judy" or last name is "Wapner," maybe you shouldn't try this one. I've also had some success with another self-proclaimed, high-falutin' honorific: "Ambassador Mann," for example, has a nice ring to it.

3. The Smoochez-le-Derriere Technique: Invoking the restaurant's artistic/aesthetic renowned prowess -- i.e., flattery -- might just land you that scarce table. A good conversation-starter might go something like: "Good afternoon. I've been told by all my friends who eat there regularly that your chilled shrimp with basil chipotle ponzu sauce has to be tried to be believed..." Or, if you want to press your luck: "Good day. Grand Duke of Earl here. I simply MUST try your Wok-seared beef in endive cups and your phyllo triangles with shiitake-gruyere filling. And the chaps down here at the City Club tell me your Alsatian Choucroute with Niman Ranch Turkey Andouille and Polenta Cakes are just as exquisite..." It's worth a shot.

4. The George Costanza Technique: Look up the name of your county's chief health inspector. You'll be turned down at first, of course, so leave a message for the maitre d' or manager to call you. Be sure to include your "title," the county agency name, and, of course, your cell number. Mumble something about a "routine annual inspection." You'll probably get a callback. (Throwing in "department of vermin control" might be pushing it, though.)

5. The Taxman-Cometh Approach: Identify yourself as being from the I.R.S. and toss in a phrase about "possible payroll irregularities" or "underreporting of tips."

6. The SEC-ular Approach: Tell the maitre d' you're CEO of a large corporation in the area and that you desire reservations for you and some board members. If you're rebuffed by a snooty guy on the phone, try using the phrase: "Look, I know giving out insider information isn't exactly kosher, but perhaps we could arrange something..." See if that gets his attention. If not, get a friend with deep pockets to buy the joint.

7. The Name Game: If you're desperate enough, try announcing yourself with a famous name, like, "Hello, this is Franklin Roosevelt Jr." It doesn't matter that the guy died 20 years ago. They don't know that.

8. The Holy-Name Game: A friend who's vice-president of a bank in Marin County swears that a guy in a white robe walked into his branch recently and identified himself to the teller as Jesus Christ. The manager checked his California driver's license, and sure enough, the guy had legally changed his name to J. Christ. The next time I need a big table in a four-star restaurant, I'm going to enlist this guy's help (and blessing). After all, what restaurant could resist announcing: "Christ, party of 12"?

(Veteran gourmand Bill Mann says his first job in high school was spray-painting grill marks on the Whoppers at Burger King.)

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